‘So? The name may not be so important, but we can check. One of my clients works in the council offices. She’ll help.’
Her enthusiasm lifted my spirits, weary as my legs were from trailing after city break man, or John Smith, or whoever he might be. ‘I’m wondering what he handed the woman in the pub.’
‘Blackmail money?’
‘I doubt it. Where would he get enough to pay her off as well as funding all his trips abroad?’
And she was like, ‘What’s your theory, then, wiseguy?’
‘He’s a private detective and she’s hired him to find out about her husband’s trips abroad. The envelope contained his latest report.’
‘That’s good, that’s very good, but wouldn’t she want to hear it from him rather than reading it later? I know I would.’
‘Maybe she’s just the messenger and the report is for someone else.’
‘That’s better, but if he’s in work as a detective what’s he doing drawing benefits and living in a council flat?’
‘Amateur detective.’
She screamed with laughter. ‘What — Lord Peter Wimsey? Miss Marple? You’ve got to be joking.’
‘Actually, I was — I think.’
‘Listen, my flower. Let’s sleep on this and meet up tomorrow and plan our next move. Have you spoken to Vicky yet?’
‘She said she’d call me back.’
‘She’s pleased you’re okay, I bet.’
‘She didn’t actually say. I caught her at a bad moment, I think.’
‘Poor lamb. It’s that husband. He’s a drag.’
‘Really? Have you met him?’
‘No, but I pick up on things she says. I think he’s out of work and he takes it out on her.’
‘Knocks her around, you mean?’
‘Hard to tell. She’s not going to boast about it, is she? Sometimes living with a deadbeat is punishment enough. You and I should count our blessings.’
‘Being single?’
‘Give me a world without men. No beer, no football, just fat, cheerful women.’
We ended the call. Tired as I was after traipsing round the streets, I didn’t like to go to sleep in case Vicky called. I spent the next hour writing this blog, getting up to date, which is where you are now. It’s almost midnight and she hasn’t called. I know if I go to bed I’ll lie awake thinking about this quest of ours and whether deep down I really want to go on with it.
Good thing I have a hands-free phone in my van because the others always seem to ring me when I’m on the road. This morning I was halfway to the shop when Vicky called.
‘So sorry about last night. I was waiting for a call from Tim. He’d be suspicious if I was talking to someone else. He was out until late. By the time he got through, it was too late to call you.’
Another piece of the jigsaw that is Vicky’s marriage.
‘But I’m dying to know how you got on.’ Her voice was more chirpy now.
Without enquiring any more into Tim’s night life, I gave her my story, adding Anita’s take on it all.
‘You did brilliantly,’ she went. ‘I’m sorry you were left to go it alone. We’re not very professional as investigators, are we?’
‘We couldn’t all three of us have gone trailing after him. You were right to spirit Anita away. He would have recognized her from the travel agency and we’d have had awkward questions to answer.’
‘He’ll recognize you now as the bird he met outside the store.’
‘The jumpy bird who nearly had a fit when he spoke.’
‘Who can blame you? I’d have died of shock.’
‘You realize what this means?’ I went. ‘He knows Anita and he knows me now. If there’s any more tailing to be done, it’s got to be you.’
‘I’m up for it,’ she went at once. ‘Tell you something, Ishy. This has really given me a fantastic boost. When I’m feeling down at work or at home I only have to think about the sleuthing sisters and I’m raring to go again.’
After that, how could I say I was having second thoughts about the whole shenanigans?
Mid-morning came a call from Anita. Yes, I was in the van again, on my way back from delivering a dozen red roses to a house in the Royal Crescent. The old lady who opened the door had got quite chirpy, clearly thinking they were from an admirer. Then she looked at the card and found her daughter was the sender. She’d forgotten it was her birthday. I’m glad the daughter wasn’t there to hear what she said, ungrateful old bat.
Back to Anita. ‘Guess where I am, poppet.’
‘Obviously not where you ought to be.’
‘Too true. London Airport.’
‘Heathrow? Are you off somewhere nice?’
‘No such luck. I’m on patrol.’
‘On what?’
‘Sleuthing — for us, the sisters.’
‘At the airport?’
‘The BA check-in. City break man should be here any minute for his flight to Amsterdam. After what you saw last night I put two and two together and here I am.’
‘I don’t understand why.’
‘Tell you later. I’ve made an arrangement with the check-in staff. Told them who I am and who I work for and said we made a boo-boo and forgot to include the hotel voucher in his travel-pack. When Mr. John Smith, bound for Amsterdam, turns up, they’ll give me a wave and I’ll go over.’
‘What will that achieve?’
‘At the very least, I’ll know he really is making these trips to Europe.’
‘Is there any doubt?’
‘In my suspicious mind, yes.’
‘Isn’t there a flaw here? If he’s travelling light he doesn’t need to check in. He can get his boarding pass from one of those self-ticketing machines and go straight to the departure gate.’
‘That’s where I’m smart. I asked the BA girls to put a stop on his ticket so he has to report to the desk and I don’t miss him.’
‘Did you really forget the hotel voucher?’
‘No, he’s got it, but you know what people are like when they’re travelling, all luggage and loose bowels. He’ll have no difficulty believing something is missing. I’ve got a duplicate voucher I can hand over.’
‘I must be dense, Anita. I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.’
‘All will shortly become clear, darling, as the parachute instructor said when he pushed the first-timer out of the plane.’ And with that she rang off.
She sounded hyper, I was thinking as I continued my journey. Is she really a good person to link up with? Up to now our little game hasn’t inconvenienced anyone else. From now on it’s less of a game. She’s fun to be with while it stays like that, but do I want her involving me in the serious stuff?
I felt like the first-time parachutist.
We met later for a cheap pizza. Food has to come first — for two of us, anyway. Anita had returned from Heathrow and was practically hopping up and down, so eager to tell her tale. We didn’t exactly gag her, but Vicky insisted we ordered before chatting and I agreed.
It was nice to see Vicky smiling, blissfully unaware of the lads at the next table giving her the eye.
We placed our order and hand over to Anita.
By now she was bursting to tell us. ‘After last night, when Ishy saw city break man meet in the pub with the smart bird and hand her something in an envelope, I got to thinking was it drugs, blackmail, or what? Ish had a thought he might be a detective handing over his report on the lady’s cheating husband.’
‘Nice one,’ Vicky went, with a nod to me.
Anita raised her finger. ‘But listen to this. When I thought about it later in bed I came up with an even better theory. What if the envelope contained the ticket to Amsterdam he’d bought from my agency?’
I was like, ‘Why would he give the ticket away?’
‘It was never meant for him. Someone else was going to fly out in John Smith’s place.’
‘The woman?’
‘No. She was only the go-between, his p.a. or someth
ing. She couldn’t pose as John Smith, but a guy with a forged passport might.’
‘Why?’ Vicky asked.
‘Because he’s up to something.’
Vicky gasped ‘Terrorism?’
Anita shrugged. ‘Could be. Definitely something illegal.’
I exchanged a look with Vicky. Both of us were shocked. The game is turning far too serious.
Anita steamed on, ‘So I’m keyed up, ready for anything. Time goes by and most of the Amsterdam passengers have checked in. Finally one of the BA girls gives me a wave. I can see the back of the man at her desk and sure enough he’s got a carry-on case and nothing to check, so he must have tried to use the self-ticketing. But get this, girls. He isn’t the guy we know as city break man.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Of course.’
‘What did you do?’
‘You’re going to be so proud of me. I took a couple of photos of him with my mobile while he was busy demanding his boarding pass. He had no idea I was doing it. Is that cool?’
‘Polar cool.’
‘Then I went up to the desk and spoke to him. I had a choice, didn’t I? Challenge him and say he wasn’t the geezer I knew from the travel agency or play along as if I didn’t know, like someone had sent me. That’s what I did. I asked if he was John Smith and he nodded, bloody liar.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Better looking for a start. About the same age and build, but definitely a cut above our guy. Brown, intelligent eyes, whitened teeth, dark hair smoothed back. He was wearing casual clothes anyone could tell were expensive. Well, you can see the pictures I took.’
She showed us her mobile. The image was tiny, of course, but sharp considering how it had been taken. Her summing-up of his appearance was spot on. I gave it a close look.
And Vicky was like, ‘Did he speak?’
‘Sure. He glanced at the voucher and thanked me, smooth as you like.’
‘Any accent?’
‘Plummy, like the voice-overs for Famous Grouse. It was all over very fast. He pocketed the voucher, took his boarding pass from the BA girl and was away. I gave him a few seconds and then followed him up to the departure gate. I watched him go through. He’ll be in Amsterdam by now.’
‘If he didn’t hi-jack the plane,’ Vicky went.
‘We’d have heard.’
‘What’s he up to, then?’
‘Don’t know, but I doubt if it’s sightseeing. There must be plenty of reasons why someone travels incognito.’
‘Most of them illegal,’ I went. ‘But it’s high risk these days. Whatever he’s up to, it’s got to pay well.’
‘Perhaps he’s a spy.’
‘You’re scaring me.’
‘If he is, we’ll be under surveillance ourselves.’ Vicky leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Don’t look now, but I just noticed the guys on the next table are taking an interest in us.’
Anita and I laughed. ‘It’s you, sweetie,’ Anita went. ‘They’re watching you. If they’re MI5, I’m a prima ballerina. It’s the usual story. Can’t take you anywhere.’
Vicky’s face looked as if one of us had slapped both cheeks.
‘The question is — what next?’ Anita went. She was going to push this as hard as she could.
‘Not much we can do if he’s in Amsterdam,’ I went, more in hope than expectation.
‘He’s back tomorrow, darling. It’s only one night in the hotel. I’m thinking one of us should be at the airport when he arrives and follow him home, find out where he lives.’
‘Difficult.’
‘Why?’
‘Think it through. Ten to one he’s left his car at the airport. He’ll get into it and drive off. How are we expected to follow him? If you’re looking at me, you’ve got to remember my van isn’t built for speed. By the sound of him, he drives a Porsche, at the least.’
Vicky lifted her shoulders a fraction. ‘And I don’t have wheels at all.’
‘Great,’ Anita went. She’s about to tell us what wimps we both are, but we’re saved by our waitress arriving with the pizzas. Vicky and I make a big deal out of deciding whose is which and if there are extra sauces. By the time it’s settled and the waitress has gone, Anita has calmed down. I wouldn’t say she’s run out of steam because I’m sure she never will.
‘I don’t want us to become a one-woman team,’ she went.
‘Now let’s be fair,’ Vicky went. ‘Ishy was out on the streets alone last night. If you want to have a go at someone, pick on me.’
‘I’m not knocking you or anyone,’ Anita went. ‘Let’s not fall out over this. Are we agreed something dodgy is going on?’
We each gave a cautious nod.
‘The thing is, we don’t know what. The Heathrow man is travelling on a ticket someone else bought. I doubt if it’s for terrorism. Terrorists don’t go to travel agencies to have their flights fixed. Neither do MI5. This is more likely to be a small-time crook who wants to pass himself off as a tourist.’
She was talking sense now and we listened.
‘We can’t even be certain he’s a crook. He could be up to naughties of some description he doesn’t want his wife to know about.’
‘In all the European cities?’ Vicky went.
‘Meeting up with his mistress, who lives abroad.’
‘Would he go to all that trouble to cover up the trips?’
‘He might, if his wife is already suspicious.’
‘He doesn’t take much spending money.’
‘Credit cards. But I think the petty crook is the best bet. He’s up to some racket that entails travelling around Europe. It can’t be beyond the wit of three intelligent women to find out what.’
‘But how?’
‘Let’s find his real identity. Next time city break man comes to the agency and makes a booking, we know the pattern.’
The MO,’ Vicky went.
‘Come again.’
The MO. It’s a police expression. Means the same thing you said.’
‘Why bother to mention it, then? He’s going to meet the woman and hand over the tickets. This time we follow the woman. She should lead us to Heathrow man. Then we find out who we’re dealing with.’
Vicky smiled and clapped her hands. ‘Neat. I’ll volunteer to be the tail.’
Anita grinned. ‘The best tail in town, as the guys on the next table will testify.’
Harmony was restored among the sleuthing sisters. We laid into those pizzas and had the key lime pie as well.
Over coffee, I asked Anita for another look at her mobile.
‘Heathrow man? D’you fancy him?’ She turned to Vicky. ‘I think she does.’ She brought up the picture and handed the phone to me.
I checked the little image. ‘Not really. But I can tell you who he is.’
One good thing about my job is that you meet people. Flowers are wanted for most of life’s special occasions and almost everyone buys them. This is a blog, not a commercial, so I’ll simply ask you to recall the times when you’ve been into a florist’s, or phoned, or ordered online. See what I mean?
Our shop has a central location and we have a monopoly in our part of the city (the location of which still has to remain a mystery). It’s quite a fashionable location actually. Without giving too much away I can reveal that we have more than our share of the rich and famous. As the delivery girl I get to meet some starry people, and I mean internationally starry. Celebs aren’t worthy of the name unless they are forever taking delivery of orchids, lilies and roses. Some see me so regularly that they know me personally and if I were indiscreet I’d tell you which of them are nice to deal with and which are plain rude. As well as film stars, TV presenters, models and footballers, I visit titled people, captains of industry, admirals, brigadiers and lottery winners. At least two of our clients are on the wrong side of the tracks. I often deliver red roses to a house known to be a brothel. And we have a regular who made his money out of gang warfare and protection
. He treats me okay. He buys in bulk, a vanload at a time of whatever we have in stock leaving the choice to us. He’ll give a party and want flowers all over the house — which is big, believe me.
You may be thinking I was bluffing when I told my two fellow sleuths I recognized Heathrow man. Was it a clever way of putting a stop to our investigations? I’ve already told you I was having second thoughts about trailing around after strange men and Vicky seemed to share my opinion, but neither of us wanted to fall out with our bubbly friend, Anita. What better way could there be of bringing the project to a grinding halt than pretending to identify Heathrow man and dreaming up a logical reason for his strange behaviour?
For example, I could say I happened to know he was an executive director of TAI, the Travel Agents’ Inspectorate, who from time to time check on the efficiency of high street agencies. He didn’t visit Anita’s branch in person, but hired a member of the public (city break man) to buy the tickets and report on the treatment he was given. City break man handed his report and the tickets to the bigwig’s PA, who in turn delivered them to Heathrow man, who made the trips and checked the quality of the flight service and the foreign hotels.
An explanation like that would put the wind up Anita for sure and stop our sleuthing stone dead. We could all go back to our comfortable girlie chat. I’m sure there are different scenarios one could think up.
But hand on heart, I didn’t make anything up. I really had recognized Heathrow man as one of my clients. I’ve been to his house a number of times. It’s not a palace and he’s not a household name. I deliver buttonholes there, a carnation for him and a corsage for his lady, generally a rose in bud with some kind of surround like maidenhair fern. I assume they go to formal dinners or receptions quite often. I haven’t met the lady, but the guy comes to the door and he’s definitely the fellow Anita snapped at Heathrow. I’d stake my life on it.
‘Brilliant,’ she went, palms in the air, eyes like searchlights. ‘Who is he?’
‘Like I just said, someone I deliver flowers to.’
‘Don’t keep us in suspense, you tease. You can do better than that.’
‘I’m trying. I can’t recall his name just now. I know the face, for sure.’ And I meant it. My memory had gone into sleep mode.
‘For crying out loud, Ish. The name must be written on the order.’
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